Dogs and Angels
by Myth Highwind
Summary: All Prompto wants is to be like everyone else. His home life is troubled, his secrets could destroy him, but things are looking up. He's a close friend of a future king and the pen-pal of the Oracle. Just when it seems he's on the verge of something like normal, a violent encounter forces him down a different and darker path. (Canon divergent)
1. Worthless

TW: Child abuse, verbal abuse, self-harm, mild violence and gore.

* * *

1.

* * *

The first time it happens, he is eight. He spills a glass of milk at the dinner table, and he watches in horror as the opaque liquid spreads across the particle board and soaks the placemats. His father goes still, his face red, and his eyes shift from indifferent to icy cold.

"You're worthless, you know that?" he says and cuffs Prompto across the cheek. "Can't do anything right."

It leaves a mark that lasts for days. Prompto lies and says he tripped. He's just clumsy. Happens all the time.

He feigns trips and falls at school, drops things on purpose, all to make it seem real. The teachers shake their heads and smile. Poor chubby clumsy little Prompto. Little butter fingers, trips over his own two feet.

By the time he is eleven, the lie becomes habit. His father comes home less and less often, but when he does, he leaves his marks in places the teachers can't see.

The only thing that keeps his head above water is her letter and the long silences between bouts of violence.

Someday. Someday, he will be worthy.

* * *

Ignis rubs his temples and tries not to wince at the shouts, giggles, beeps, bloops, mechanical whirring, and pops of simulated gunfire. He's no fan of arcades and their aura of barely controlled chaos. Too much noise, too many people, most under the age of sixteen, gorging on unhealthy snacks and too-sweet sodas. The ever-flashing lights give him a headache, the noise anxiety.

Noctis loves the place and chose it for his first supervised outing with his new school friend, Prompto. Ignis is quietly thrilled Noctis has made a friend, but he has mixed feelings about the friend himself. Prompto is loud, energetic and lacks the social graces expected of a consort of a future king.

It's not that Prompto is impolite, only that he seems unaware decorum is the default among royal associates. He slouches, complains, shouts, and laughs at everything, his manner unrestrained and uncouth. His clothes are clean but ill-fitting and years out of style.

Not that Ignis judges him for that. Not everyone can afford the latest fashions.

"I don't trust that kid," Gladio says. "He's way too familiar with Noctis, and way too common. Doesn't even bother to address him properly."

"This country is built on the backbone of her people," Ignis reminds him. "It will be good for Noctis to be seen not as an untouchable, but down to earth enough to befriend a commoner."

"Yeah, I know, but I still don't think he's the right friend for a Prince," Gladio says. "Kid gets on my nerves."

"Ah. The truth reveals itself."

Gladio shrugs and slurps on his giant-sized cola.

"Give the boy a chance, Gladio," Ignis says. "I for one am relieved Noctis is coming out of his shell."

Across the way, the boys punch buttons on a console. Prompto cackles and shouts something at the screen and Noctis elbows him, a slight smirk on his face. Nearby, a pair of girls watch their game and giggle behind their hands.

Gladio, always on alert for a threat, steps closer, as if they might be a pair of teenaged assassins disguised as school girls. Ignis follows out of habit.

"Hey, check it out," Prompto says. He nudges Noctis in the ribs and angles his head toward the giggling girls. "We've got an audience."

"Yeah? So?" Noctis says and thumbs the joystick rapidly. "What about it?"

"There's only one reason girls come to arcades," Prompto says.

"Yeah? What reason is that?"

"To play games. What else?" Prompto says. He turns and waves at the girls. "Hey, ladies? Care to join us for the next round?"

Ignis shakes his head as the girls wander over, each eyeing Noctis with star-struck adoration. Noctis, as usual, is oblivious.

"So, how we gonna team up?" Prompto asks. "Ladies versus Gents, or Villagers versus Royalty?"

The girls giggle. Gladio crosses his arms over his chest.

"See? That's what I'm talking about," Gladio says. "No respect."

Noctis' classmates treat him either like a celebrity or with extreme deference. Prompto does neither of those things and instead behaves as though Noctis is no different than anyone else. Ignis finds that rather charming, even if Prompto's manners could use some work.

"He's going to be a King before he knows it. Time he starts acting like it," Gladio says.

"All the more reason to let him have his fun now," Ignis says.

"Yeah, well," Gladio says, "when he starts skipping out on training and tutoring to hang out with his new pal, don't say I didn't warn you."

Prompto retrieves a small camera and snaps photos of Noctis and their new friends. Gladio grumbles under his breath.

"Did you look into the matter?" Ignis asks.

"Not much to find," Gladio says. "Father's a low-level accountant for the Ministry of Economy and spends a lot of time at the bar after work. Mom cleans houses and volunteers."

"Rather benign," Ignis says. "Anything else?"

"Well, the kid's grades aren't good enough to warrant a scholarship, and his parents don't make enough dough to pay for an expensive prep school, so there's that," Gladio says.

"Perhaps he has a benefactor," Ignis says.

"Not that I found," Gladio says.

"Dig deeper," Ignis suggests. "What of the boy himself?"

"Never been in trouble," Gladio says. "B-average student. Absent without an excuse a couple times in grade school. Once wandered off the playground to take pictures of birds."

"Sounds like a real hell-raiser," Ignis says and casts a glance sideways. "Cor tells me the Argentums are loyalists to the crown. If Cor can vouch for them, I have no concerns."

"Kid bugs me," Gladio says.

The game the boys and their new lady friends are playing lights up and makes a series of beeping sounds. Noctis and Prompto both lift their arms in a victory pose and slap their palms together.

"Who's the man?!" Prompto crows. "Oh, yeah!"

"I demand a rematch," one of the girls declares. "Except, we switch up the teams so it's a fair fight."

"You're on, baby," Prompto says with a crooked grin. "Noct? You up for round two?"

"Oh yeah," Nocits says. "You're going down."

Gladio rolls his eyes, but Ignis can't recall the last time he saw his charge so at ease.

* * *

Prompto is reluctant to say goodbye to Calla and Nancy, but he has homework and Noctis is bound for his afternoon training session with Gladiolus and lessons with Ignis.

He casts one last glance at the girls and waves goodbye as they giggle and titter behind their hands.

"Not sure which one I like better," Prompto says as he stuffs his hands in his pockets. "They're both kinda awesome."

"Calm down. They're just girls."

"Yeah, but girls are amazing," Prompto says. "They're all so pretty and they smell nice."

Prompto pauses as he realizes his friend has never expressed any interest in girls before. He's friendly and kind, but he doesn't go nuts in their presence the way Prompto does.

"So... you're not interested in dating or anything?"

"What's the point?" Noctis asks. "In a few years, my father will tell me who I'm supposed to marry, and that's that."

Prompto never even considered Noctis might have no choice in the matter.

"That sucks," Prompto says. "But, doesn't mean you can't have a little fun before you walk that plank."

Noctis snort-laughs and claps Prompto on the shoulder.

"I'll let you have the fun for me," Noctis says.

A fluffy black and tan dog trots down the sidewalk toward them, something strapped to its back, and Noctis' face lights up. He kneels as Umbra sits at his feet, and offers the dog a gentle greeting and a scratch behind the ear.

"You know this little guy?" Prompto asks and crouches down to give Umbra a scratch of his own. They're old pals, but he didn't know Umbra paid Noctis visits, too.

"Yep."

Noctis unstraps the bundle from the dog's back and tucks it under his arm.

"Tomorrow," he tells Umbra, gives a final scratch, and the dog trots away.

"So... You're not going to tell me what that's about?"

Noctis looks uncomfortable, but shrugs. "He belongs to a friend of mine. She doesn't live in Insomnia."

"Ohhh. She's a pen pal," Prompto teases. "Does she have a name?"

Prompto already knows, but Noctis' reaction is curious and deserves a little good-natured teasing.

"... Luna."

"Is she your girlfriend?"

"No. We're just... friends."

"Luna and Noctis, sittin' in a tree..."

"Cut it out."

"K-I-S-S-ooof!"

Prompto rubs his ribs where Noctis elbowed him, but he laughs at his friend's red cheeks.

"Maybe I could write to your good friend Luna," Prompto says. "Send her a picture or two."

"Why would you?"

"I dunno," Prompto says. "Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, right? Gotta let her know someone's looking out for you."

"That's what Gladio's for."

"Come on. Let me send one little picture? Pretty please?"

Noctis rolls his eyes, but he shrugs.

"Fine. One picture."

"Woohooo!"

* * *

 _Dear Prompto,_

 _Thank you ever so much for the photograph and letter. It warms my heart to see the two of you have become such close friends. It is good to see Noctis smile, and I trust you share my desire to see him happy. He's not one to send photos of himself, and I must say, he has grown a great deal since the last time I saw him. I'm also pleased to finally put a face to your name. Some day, I hope we can meet in person._

 _Though my days are busy, it can be very lonely, as I am not necessarily in the company of friends. Your correspondence is always welcome, Prompto. Never think I'm not pleased and honored to receive your letters. I look forward to them, and you are welcome to write as often as you wish, and I will cherish whatever photographs you choose to send. I promise._

 _All I ask is that you continue to stand beside Noctis and support him through the coming years. His burden is great, and childhood will soon be at an end. I know he does not say it, but he values your friendship dearly, and you have my gratitude for being there to brighten his days._

 _Yours,_

 _Luna_

* * *

 _Dear Luna,_

 _Yay! I'm so happy you liked the picture! That was the best one, and you're right! It's pretty hard to get Noctis to pose. Never met anyone who hates having his picture taken more than him, so sometimes I have to be sneaky about it, but sometimes, those stealthy pics are the ones that turn out awesome, so I'm not going to complain. He's getting better about it, though. Guess having strangers follow you around taking pictures is kind of a downer, and I guess it would be pretty annoying. But, I'm his buddy so that's different, right? I'm not just some weirdo following him around with a camera. I'm only that guy some of the time. :)_

 _Anyway, the pics I'm sending are from the fishing trip Gladio took us on last week. Fishing's not my thing, but Noct really digs it. I was sort of bored by the whole thing. You just sit there and wait for something to bite. It's the worst, but like I said, Noct's into it and the guy's gotta have a little fun every now and then, you know?_

 _Sometimes I worry about him. He doesn't talk about the stuff that bothers him but I know it weighs heavy on his mind. Heavy lies the crown, I guess, but I'm doing my best to keep his spirits up. No worries on that account. I got this end covered._

 _Gotta run, but give Pryna a scratch for me, okay?_

 _Your buddy,_

 _Prompto_

* * *

"So, you wanna hit up the arcade on Saturday?" Prompto asks.

"Can't. Got a volunteer thing at the children's hospital," Nocits says. "Then some dinner thing with my dad."

"Oh, right. Cool," Prompto says. "Hey, you think I can tag along? I'm pretty good with little kids."

Noctis blinks at him and shrugs. "That really how you want to spend your day?"

"Why not? Sick kids need to have fun too," Prompto says.

"They're sick. That's not a lot of fun."

"Yeah, I know, but we can make it fun."

"Sure, if you want," Noctis says. "I guess."

"You don't mind?"

"I don't if you don't," Noctis says. "They can always use extra help."

They part ways on the sidewalk outside school in front of a sleek luxury sports car that costs more than everything Prompto owns three times over.

"Wow, sweet ride," Prompto says. "Your dad's?"

"Birthday gift," Noctis says.

Prompto's gift of a collectible Justice Monsters action figure suddenly pales in comparison. Noctis seemed pleased, but what was a cheap plastic toy in comparison to a car?

"Um, can you drive yet?"

"I'm learning."

Ignis gets out of the driver's side, polished and poised as always.

"Hey Specs," Noctis says. "You ready to do this?"

"After our last lesson, I'm content to drive you myself until the day you die."

"That bad?" Prompto asks with a laugh.

"Worse."

Prompto cackles and shoves Noctis' shoulder.

"Think you drove him over the edge, dude."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "It gives new meaning to the phrase _hell on wheels_."

Prompto cackles again. For as stiff as Ignis can be, Prompto enjoys the dry salt he comes out with from time to time. Especially when directed at Noctis.

"We'd offer you a ride, but I fear you won't make it home alive."

"I'm _not_ that bad."

"It's all good," Prompto says. "Gotta stop at the market on the way home anyway. Nothing in the fridge but wilted lettuce and soy sauce."

"That does leave something to be desired," Ignis agrees, but he eyes Prompto for a long moment. "Perhaps you could join us for dinner, if your family is still out of town. I'm making Lucian Bass with grilled squash and roasted potatoes."

Prompto's stomach rumbles at the thought. He should stay home, just in case, but he can't resist Ignis' cooking. The man has a gift.

"Never had that, but it sounds good," Prompto says.

"Squash?" Noctis asks. "You trying to kill me Specky?"

"Merely trying to diversify your tastes."

"Count me in," Prompto says.

"It's settled then. We'll pick you up at six," Ignis says.

"Sure. I'll meet you on the corner, okay?" he says. "See ya!"

Prompto picks up a few items from the grocery anyway, in case his parents actually come home and feel like eating. Loaded down with bags, he trudges up the steps to the apartment, unlocks the door, and is surprised to find his father on the couch.

He can't remember the last time anyone was there when he got home from school. Most days, no one is there when he goes to bed.

His father's eyes are bloodshot and he smells of booze. Prompto cringes at the memory of the last time his father stumbled home drunk and angry about something that wasn't even Prompto's fault.

"What'cha got there, kid?"

"Just some groceries," he says.

"Spendin' all my money is what you're doing."

"No, just the household money," Prompto says. "It's one of my chores. Remember?"

"Buyin' junk and crap."

"It's just salad stuff and some toilet paper. Honest."

His father stands and Prompto swallows around a lump in his throat. He's never seen his father look at him with so much hatred. Most of the time, they ignore him, even when he's right there in front of them.

"Never should have taken you in. You don't belong here."

He grips Prompto by the wrist and tugs down the athletic band that covers the tattoo Prompto has no explanation for. All he's ever known is that it makes him an outsider, that he has to hide it. He drops the grocery bags and goes still.

"You know what you are?" his father asks. "You know what this means?"

Prompto pulls his arm away and receives a backhand slap in return. It stings, and Prompto's eyes cloud with moisture.

"It means you're a Nif, kid. I'm harboring the enemy in my own home, and what thanks do I get for it?"

"I'm not," Prompto says. "You're lying."

"That mark on your arm says otherwise, boy," his father says. "That's what the Nifs brand their robots with. You know that?"

"No."

His father twists his arm, and Prompto goes to his knees as a bone snaps. The next blow is to his gut, the next his ribs. He can't breathe and he curls up into a ball on the floor and waits for it to end. He loses count of how many times his father strikes him, but if he moves, it will get worse. He stays still until his father's rage dies out.

"Never should have agreed to this," his father says. "You're worthless."

He's been told this his whole life, that he's worthless. That he will never be good enough, never measure up, never truly belong because of that stupid tattoo. He's been told to hide it his whole life, but he never really knew why it matters or what it means.

Maybe there are different answers to the questions floating around on the edges of his misery, but he's not sure he wants them. Those answers might ruin his life and maybe even get him killed.

His wrist and his ribs are on fire. They throb in time with his heartbeat and every breath is hell. The final blow knocks him out cold.

* * *

Ignis pulls up to the corner where he usually drops Prompto off when they give him a ride, but he isn't there. He waits for a few minutes as Noctis sends his friend a text.

There's no reply and Ignis begins to worry. Prompto, for all his irritating habits, is a good kid and he's always on time for outings with Noctis.

Noctis calls but it goes to voicemail.

Ignis circles the block, then stops in front of an apartment building.

"Stay here," he tells Noctis.

"You don't know where he lives," Noctis says.

"I have an address," Ignis says.

"Why?"

"You don't think we did our homework?" Ignis asks. "It is our job, after all."

Upstairs, Ignis approaches the door of Prompto's apartment. It's slightly ajar, and the room beyond dark. He knocks and calls out, but there is no answer from the other side. He pushes the door open and peers into a small living room. He notices nothing amiss at first, then he sees a body lying motionless on the carpet.

Ignis pushes the door all the way open and invites himself in to find a semi-conscious Prompto curled into a ball, his arm clutched to his chest. Grocery bags are scattered on the floor around him and a selection of produce has escaped their trappings. A tomato here, a cucumber there. It might be comical, if not for the broken boy they encircle.

He kneels down and gingerly turns Prompto onto his back. Prompto has one hell of a black eye, a busted lip, and if Ignis isn't mistaken, a broken wrist. Ignis pries his arm away from his chest, and spies something etched into Prompto's skin.

A barcode, a number, and a small insignia that sends a wave of loathing and anger through Ignis' chest. He's seen it before. It doesn't make sense, but he knows what it is.

There's no time to ask questions now. That can wait until Prompto is able to answer.

Prompto's phone rings and Ignis answers when he sees it's Noctis.

"Come upstairs," Ignis says.

"What's going on?"

"Come upstairs, Noctis," Ignis says. "Your friend needs your help."

Ignis only has one potion on him. It won't be enough to cure Prompto's wounds entirely, but it will take the edge off the pain until he can get Prompto to safety. He doesn't trust whatever happened here won't happen again. There is only one choice to make and that is to offer Prompto the shelter of his spare room for the time being.

Ignis gathers the groceries from the floor as the potion does it's job and carries them to the kitchen. He notices on the way there are no photos of Prompto, nothing that suggests a teenage boy lives here. The furnishings are drab, well used, but clean, and there's little on the walls except a handful of bland landscapes akin to those found in any two-star hotel in the country.

He returns to the living room and attempts to help Prompto sit, but when he does, Prompto's cry of pain makes Ignis rethink that decision.

"I'm sorry," Ignis says. "Lie still."

"You're not supposed to see me like this," Prompto says, his voice soft but full of gravel.

"Will you tell me what happened?" Ignis asks.

"Fell," Prompto says, and Ignis knows it's a lie, but he doesn't push for answers.

Noctis arrives and stands in the doorway, aghast at Prompto's sorry state.

"Who did this?"

"He says he fell."

"What, from a ten story building?" Noctis says. He stalks over to Prompto's side and joins Ignis on the floor. "Prompto, who did this?"

Prompto covers his face with his uninjured arm and shakes his head.

"He'll tell you when he's ready," Ignis says. "Now is not the time."

Noctis doesn't want to accept that answer, but Ignis shuts him down with a look.

"Perhaps you could pack an overnight bag," Ignis suggests. "For a couple days, at least."

"Yeah," Noctis agrees. "Yeah, I'll do that."

* * *

The ride to Ignis' place is nearly silent. Prompto sits in the back, the worst of his injuries on the mend, but his pride has taken a massive blow. He leans against the door, his still-swollen eye against the cool glass, and he thinks about what his father said.

Could it really be true? If the Nif army is branded this way, what does that mean for him?

More important, did Ignis or Noctis see it?

If so, does that mean he can't be Noct's friend anymore?

That thought is somehow worse than all the rest.

"You'll stay with me for now," Ignis says. "I'd feel better knowing you're somewhere safe."

"You don't have to do that," Prompto says. "It's no big deal."

"Humor me," Ignis says.

Prompto tries to nod, but it hurts. He closes his eyes against the light and hopes he'll never hurt like this again.


	2. Shadows, Light

2.

* * *

Even on a good day, Prompto complains a lot. Bugs. Rain. Homework. Gym class. All the little minor annoyances warrant a sometimes comical, sometimes annoying triad about the inconveniences of daily life.

Noctis expects the usual whining over the pain and discomfort from the beating he took, but Prompto sucks it up and stays quiet. He submits to Ignis' mothering as Ignis tends to wounds that look even worse in the light. Prompto's freckled cheeks blaze red and his eyes remain downcast. He suffers in silence, with only the occasional grunt to betray him.

Whatever happened, Prompto didn't fall.

From time to time, Noctis noticed unexplained bruises. He bought Prompto's excuses of clumsiness, believed the stories about tumbles down the stairs and trips over cracks in the sidewalk.

They've only been friends a year, but Gladio and Ignis aside, Prompto is his only real friend. He appreciates that their friendship is not one that comes with strings or duty attached. Prompto is not there to act as a bodyguard or an advisor. He doesn't have an assignment or an obligation.

Now, as he watches his friend suffer so quietly, he feels as though he's let Prompto down. The signs were in front of him all along, and he ignored them.

"Is that too tight?" Ignis asks as he secures a splint on Prompto's wrist.

"It's good," Prompto says. "Uh, and, you know. Thanks."

Noctis sits on the end of the bed and he can't bring himself to look Prompto in the eye.

"You wanna talk?" he asks.

"I don't know where to start."

Noctis glances at Ignis and angles his head toward the door. Ignis gives a nod of understanding.

"I'll go start dinner," Ignis says. "Let me know if you need another potion."

Noctis gets up and sits next to his friend, his back against the headboard and his knees drawn toward his chest. Prompto, propped up by Ignis' collection of decorative pillows, keeps his eyes fixed on his splinted arm.

"I know we don't talk about the big stuff," Noctis says, "but if there's ever anything you need to get off your chest, you can tell me."

"I know," Prompto says.

"I don't think you do," Noctis says.

Prompto toys with the edge of the bandage, his posture defeated and the corners of his mouth down-turned.

"You get mugged on the way home or something?"

"No."

"Was it...?" Noctis begins. It isn't an easy question to ask. "Was it your dad?"

Prompto hesitates, his eyes shimmer with tears, but he shakes his head no.

Noctis has his answer, the one he suspected the second he walked into Prompto's apartment.

He's not sure how to offer comfort, or how to make it right. He takes comfort in knowing Prompto is safe for now, but he wonders how much pain his good-natured friend his hiding behind that smile.

Noctis pats Prompto's shoulder and climbs out of the bed.

"Get some rest. I'm gonna give Iggy a hand."

Gladio and Iris are in the kitchen with Ignis, who stands at the counter whisking something in a bowl. Iris beams at Noctis, and Gladio greets him with a nod.

"That thing that happened earlier?" Noctis says to Ignis. "It was his father."

Ignis pours the mixture from the bowl over fillets of fish.

"I suspected."

"We gotta do something about that," Noctis insists. "Might kill him next time."

"Won't be a next time if I have anything to say about it."

"Yo, what are you two scheming about?" Gladio asks.

"Fill him in, while I start the squash?" Ignis says. "Iris, do be a dear and peel the potatoes, if you're still willing to help?"

"Sure," she says. "Just point me to the potato peeler."

Noctis takes Gladio aside. Gladio's expression darkens the more he hears, and Noctis senses Gladio is itching for a fight.

"How long's this been going on?"

"I don't know. A while, I think."

"I'll take care of it."

"I want in," Noctis says.

"No can do, kid," Gladio says. "Can't have His Highness, the Crown Prince Lucis involved in the beat-down of a Lucian Citizen."

"You're nobility. What's the difference?" Noctis says.

"I won't be King someday."

Noctis doesn't want to be King. He sees what the job does to his father, his body aging and failing and his time too limited to enjoy being alive. Not that Noctis seeks his own joy. He'd rather sleep, but his father doesn't even do that, even when he's exhausted.

"I'm not going to stand aside and let you have all the fun," Noctis says. "If anyone deserves a head-bashing courtesy of the royal line it's this guy."

Gladio shakes his head, but Noctis digs in.

"I owe it to Prompto to make sure it doesn't happen again," Noctis says. "Take me with you."

"Well, don't blame me if it winds up in the papers."

Noctis claps Gladio on the arm.

"Then we'll make sure it doesn't."

* * *

Prompto sleeps through dinner. When he wakes, it's to the scent of bacon and coffee. Ignis is seated beside the window in an arm chair with a stack of documents in his lap and a plate of breakfast on the small table.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Ignis doesn't wait for Prompto's answer. He leaves and returns with a plate and a mug of coffee. Prompto doesn't drink coffee. He's energetic enough without it, but he accepts it and digs into a healthy portion of scrambled eggs, fried potatoes and crispy bacon. When he finishes every last bite, Ignis offers him more.

He's tempted but declines. Overeating has always been a struggle.

"Perhaps you'd like to freshen up?" Ignis says. "Then, I'll take a look at your injuries."

Prompto sits up and grunts at the stiffness in the muscles of his back. A dull pain shoots through his side, but otherwise he feels better. The curatives have healed most of the damage, but the healing itself is its own sort of ache.

He limps to the adjacent bathroom, where Ignis has laid out bath towels and toiletries for his use, he wonders how much trouble he will be in when he goes home. He's not supposed to be out after eight or stay over with friends without leaving a note, and he's definitely not supposed to skip school. When Prompto's not there for roll call, the school will call his parents, and its a sure bet one of them will be waiting for him at home after the final bell.

The hot water soothes his aches and clears his head. His father's ire over missing school is the least of his worries.

He emerges from the bath clean and dressed to find Ignis still beside the window with his stack of documents.

"Better?"

"Loads," Prompto says.

"I imagine you're still a little sore," Ignis says. "I've taken the liberty of contacting the school regarding your absence. Noctis will bring you your assignments."

"Thanks," Prompto says and eases down onto the edge of the bed. "How did you guys know where to find me?"

Ignis' smile is enigmatic. "We have our ways."

"Oh, yeah. Guess you guys would have to vet Noct's friends pretty well, huh?" Prompto says. "Guess you didn't find anything sketchy or else we wouldn't be able to hang out, right?"

"Indeed," Ignis says. "Though I hear you used to fly the coop to take photographs."

"Heh. Yeah, guess I did," he says. "I was in my own little world back then."

"As you are now," Ignis says with a kind smile. He holds out his hand and gestures at Prompto's arm. "May I?"

Prompto reluctantly turns over his arm for Ignis' inspection. He unwraps the bindings and gingerly investigates the spot where the bone broke. It's still a little swollen, badly bruised, and tender to the touch, but Prompto can move it without much pain. In a day or two, all evidence of the injury will be erased.

Ignis turns his arm palm down and eyes the barcode with great interest. Prompto cringes under his scrutiny and pulls away.

"May I ask where you got that?" Ignis asks. "Poor choice at the tattoo parlor, perhaps?"

Prompto could lie. He could laugh it off and agree, but he doesn't.

"I've had it as long as I can remember."

"Curious."

"I don't even really know what it means, you know?" Prompto says. "Just something my family told me I had to hide. So I did."

"With good reason," Ignis says. "Though it's missing a production date, this looks very much like the serial numbers assigned to the Empire's Magitek Troopers."

Prompto feels sick. It's as bad as he feared.

"I'm not one of them," Prompto says. "I'm not a robot."

"Indeed. I see no evidence of that," Ignis says. "It appears, given the lack of a date you may have been among the first batches created by the Empire."

"...created?" Prompto asks.

Ignis explains, and Prompto's sure if he hears more, he's going to throw up. He holds up his good hand and shakes his head.

"No more, okay? I can't right now."

"If you wish," Ignis says. "However, I fully intend to look into the matter of how you came to be here. I understand you were adopted by the Argentums as an infant. I expect there's a great deal more to the story than a working-class family willing to take on a foreign war orphan out of the kindness of their hearts."

Prompto flinches and lowers his head.

"If this is real, it means someone took you and brought you here," Ignis says. "I intend to find out the reasons behind it."

Prompto's not sure he wants to know. He's had enough truths for one day, and it's hard enough to get his head around the idea that he might not be entirely human.

"Does Noct know? Did he see it?" he asks after a beat.

"No," Ignis says. "For now, this stays between us unless you choose to share it with him, though I'd use caution until we know more."

Prompto's eyes sting and he breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, Ig," Prompto says. "Appreciate it."

"It's no trouble," Ignis says. "For now, continue to keep it covered and I'll update you on what I learn."

He binds the splint again and offers Prompto another potion, which he refuses. Another potion won't cure the worst of his troubles and he can live with sore muscles for another day or two.

* * *

 _Dear Luna,_

 _Think you could spare a prayer or two for my friend Prompto? He's the guy in the photo I sent a while back. He's going through a rough time and could use all the help he can get. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important._

 _Sending along a clipping from a gossip column. Thought you'd find it funny. I sure as hell do._

 _Yours,_

 _The Prince of Tentacles_

* * *

Noctis barely pays attention in class. He flips through a tabloid that someone discarded in the lunchroom and amuses himself with half a dozen wild theories about the nobility, himself and the King until the final bell rings. He doesn't normally read this junk, but it's a distraction from the cold anger over Prompto's plight. It's also hilarious to think someone spent time coming up with this insanity. There's even proof in the form of a poorly edited photograph.

He clips it and tucks it into Luna's notebook for laughs and pens a quick note to send along with it. Then, he watches the clock and pretends he hears what the instructor is saying. Sometimes, he wishes his warp ability could speed up time, too.

It's Gladio that picks him up instead of Ignis. They drive across town to a seedy bar tucked at the back of an alley in a neighborhood Noctis has never visited before.

He's aware there is poverty in Insomnia, but this place goes beyond what he imagines when he hears that word. Though homelessness is minimal according to the numbers Ignis makes him study, he sees a different story written on these streets.

They're mostly refugees, displaced citizens from Lucian territories overtaken by the Imperials that have nowhere to go but here. They were offered safety within Insomnia's walls, but Noctis sees there's no safety here, and no refuge.

He vows to do something about that. Whether his father will listen or not. These people were loyal to their King, and Lucis couldn't protect them. It isn't enough to open up the gates and let them in without a safety net to help them begin again in an environment where foreigners were met with elitism and mistrust. It isn't their fault they're here, and it isn't their fault the natives have turned their backs.

"Goddamn," he says to himself as they pass a young mother with two young children huddled next to a dumpster. Their dress suggests they are from Galahd. "Great job, dad."

It only fuels the anger that has weighed him down all day. He reaches into his pocket and offers the woman all the cash in his wallet. It isn't much, but should be enough for a meal.

Gladio frowns and shakes his head, but Noctis ignores him. The woman whispers her thanks and clutches the smallest child closer.

"Get a move on, Noct," he says. "This isn't a part of town you want to loiter in."

"Yeah, I got that."

They join a pair a man and a woman outside the bar. Noctis recognizes their faces, he's seen them around the citadel, but he can't recall their names. Both look like they've seen their share of battle.

"Thanks for coming," Gladio says to the woman. "I owe you one. Maybe I can take you out for a drink sometime."

"I only drink with comrades," the woman says with a smirk. "And only top shelf."

"I'd never let a lady drink swill."

"You're barking up the wrong tree," she says and her smirk grows into a smile. "I'm definitely no lady."

"No, but I bet you're always in charge," Gladio says with a flirtatious smile.

Gladio thinks he's smooth and Noctis rolls his eyes and sticks a finger down his throat. The man accompanying her chuckles.

"And I bet you're not used to being told no," she says easily. "What are you, like 19?"

The man behind her grins and slides an arm around her shoulders.

"That was a good try, but you've gotta work on your game a little, Amicitia," the man says. "Takes a lot to impress a girl like this, considering how you Crownsguard don't see much battle outside a training center."

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio says. "Laugh it up, Hero. How's gate duty treating you? Hear Drautos wasn't so pleased about that stunt you pulled."

"Ah, he's just jealous."

Noctis fears it's going to come to a fight, but all three laugh and offer more proper greetings.

They salute and bow in deference when Gladio introduces him. Noctis waves them off. He hates the attention his title draws, and it's definitely not a good idea to make it known here, of all places.

"Noctis, this is Nyx and Crowe," Gladio says. "Of the Kingsglaive."

"It's a pleasure," Noctis says.

"So, what kind of mess are you in that the Crownsguard can't handle on their own?"

"The kind that no one needs to know about," Noctis says. "This guy beat the hell out of a friend of mine. We're going to remind him what happens when you step on a consort of the royal family."

"Your friend can't fight his own battles?" Nyx asks.

"Not really," Noctis says. "If you saw him, you'd understand."

"He's puny and sixteen and as common as they come," Gladio supplies. "Not a fighter."

Noctis is inclined to disagree. Fighting doesn't always involve muscle, and it's clear Prompto's been fighting a long, hard battle on his own.

Crowe frowns, a bit of pity in her eyes.

"Can't stand bullies," Nyx says. "Count me in."

"You guys are here for intimidation only," Gladio says. "But I'm not going to lose any sleep if maybe you slip and his face falls into your fist a few times."

Nyx grins. "Understood."

Gladio leads the way, Noctis brings up the rear. They're careful to avoid the security cameras and they keep their backs to them when they can't. Noctis' fury swells as they approach a man at the bar.

There are six empty beer bottles in front of him, a seventh in his hand. Hebeto Argentum has already consumed more than his share and it's not even sundown. He's a large man, broad shouldered and probably as tall as Gladio. Even if Prompto fought back, he wouldn't stand a chance.

Gladio grabs the man by the collar of his dress shirt and hauls him to his feet. The man takes a wild swing, but Gladio pins him face down against the wooden bar top. Nyx and Crowe flank him.

"So, you think it's fun to beat up on kids, huh?" Gladio says.

"That lying little shit!" Argentum cries. "I didn't do anything. He fell, okay? He's a klutz!"

Gladio tightens his grip. The man struggles to free himself, but Gladio doesn't let up.

"You're what, three times his size?" Gladio asks. "And a hundred pounds heavier? Tell me how that's a fair fight."

"Kid's a liar!" Argentum says. "Lemmie go!"

Gladio lifts him up off the bar and drags him out into the alley, kicking and flailing the whole way. He's the same size as Gladio, and about the same height, but his girth is not due to muscle mass.

"You want to fight someone, give me a shot instead," Gladio says. "You, me. Right here, right now. We'll see how tough you really are."

Gladio shoves Argentum away. Argentum stumbles but raises his fists, ready to fight and defend himself. Nyx and Crowe block him in, his back to the wall.

"Listen, I don't want any trouble," he says and drops his fists. "I'm not looking for a fight."

"Too bad, you got one," Gladio says. "See, Prompto has some pretty powerful friends. Where I come from, you mess with the behemoth, you shouldn't be shocked when you get the horns."

Gladio steps back and allows Hebeto Argentum to see Noctis. Argentum's eyes go wide and he shakes his head.

"This is all a misunderstanding," he says. "I didn't lay a hand on him. I swear!"

Noctis is not the type to get into brawls outside of training. He's never hit anyone who wasn't willing to get hit in return. He's not a fighter by nature, even if brawling has been drilled into him, a necessity required by his position. Faced with a drunken, helpless opponent, he hesitates.

It isn't a fair fight, but then again, Prompto didn't get a fair shot either.

Noctis fights back against his conscience and delivers the first blow. Not with a weapon, but his bare fist, just the way Gladio taught him. His punch lands against the man's side, the impact and placement designed to bring about maximum pain. He swings again and his fist collides with the man's face.

Argentum howls and hunches forward, a hand pressed to his bruised ribs. It's oddly satisfying.

"Okay, okay," the man wheezes. "Maybe I knocked him around a little. Won't happen again. I swear."

"That wasn't the first time, was it?" Noctis asks.

"He asked for it!"

"I doubt that," Noctis says. He looks to Gladio. "I don't think he's getting the message."

The beating Argentum receives is short, but brutal. Noctis gets in a couple more hits as Gladio holds him still, then stands back and watches while Crownsguard and Kingsglaive work together to deliver his sentence. If Noctis has any regrets, it's that he didn't understand Prompto's plight sooner.

It explains too much about why Prompto doesn't talk about his family, and about why he's always reluctant to go home.

When they're finished, Hebeto Argentum lays in a heap on the dirty cobblestones with a bloody nose, two black eyes and a few broken bones. Noctis knees down beside him, takes his arm and twists until he feels it snap. The man's scream is pure agony, but Noctis feels no sympathy.

"Prompto is under my protection," Noctis says. "Do you understand?"

"...yes."

"Good."

Noctis is shaking as they leave the man in the alley. He's half sick over what he's just done, but full of vengeful blood-lust and vindication on Prompto's behalf. Maybe the way they went about it was wrong, maybe the man is owed due process under the law, but a cold kind of justice has been served.

"Never would have guessed you had that in you, Highness," Nyx says and claps him on the shoulder. "This kid must be a good friend."

Noctis nods. "The best."

* * *

 _Dear Prompto,_

 _Your last letter was unusually terse, and utterly devoid of photos. I've almost come to expect them, so imagine my disappointment when I opened the envelope to find a few short sentences and no new photos to add to my collection. Really, Prompto. That is unacceptable. What shall I do with myself if there are no new awkward photos of Noctis petting stray cats to make my long and lonely days bearable?_

 _All kidding aside, I hope you don't feel your correspondence is out of line. As I've said, it is always welcome and always appreciated. I don't mean to pry or upset you, but I worry about you as much as I worry for Noctis. I also understand if circumstances prevent you from writing at present, but know that you are more than welcome to share your troubles with me if you wish. I'm too far away to gossip, after all, and anything you tell me will be kept in the strictest of confidence._

 _Always remember, the shadows are there to teach us to appreciate the light. You're in my thoughts and prayers, and I hope to hear from you soon._

 _Yours,_

 _Luna_

* * *

 _Dear Luna,_

 _I'm just going through some stuff. I'll tell you about it some other time. The good news is I'm staying with Iggy, and Gladio thinks I should train to become a Crownsguard. I won't just be that weird kid that follows Noct around with a camera anymore, I'll actually be able to do something useful. How cool is that? So now, after school every day I'm supposed to train, and I'm actually looking forward to it, even though I'm not crazy about the idea of killing things. But hey, whatever I need to do to serve my future King, right?_

 _Anyway, today's set of pictures is from the visit to the children's hospital. We had a great time playing with the kids and you know, Noct is pretty good with them. You'd be proud. Oh, and the weird one of me crawling around on the floor is me pretending to be a chocobo. Yeah, I'm that guy. I gave them all rides. It was a blast, but boy does my back hurt, even days later. I think I'm going to keep going back to see them when I can, though, even if Noct doesn't come with me. I feel like I did something worthwhile, you know? Sometimes I can't see the forest for the trees, so it helps to remind me that no matter how bad my own troubles seem, they're small chicobos in comparison. I mean, I got it pretty good when I think about it, so if there's anything I can do to make it better for those who don't, it's worth doing._

 _Thanks for thinking of me, Luna. Sometimes I forget I have some really awesome friends and that I'm lucky enough to call someone like you one of them. I mean, you don't have to take time out of your busy day to keep in touch, but you do, and I'm humbled that you think someone like me is worth your time._

 _Your buddy,_

 _Prompto_

 _P.S. Noct really does love him some stray cats. Wanna make a wager about how many he adopts once he's King? I mean, the Citadel's a pretty big place! He can house a bunch and I doubt anyone would even notice._

* * *

 _Dear Prompto,_

 _I shall take you up on your wager. I say 100 stray cats, all of which he will name after characters from the games he so loves and I have no clue about. Henceforth, Noctis shall be known only as the Crazy Cat Lady for the purposes of our letters._

 _I'm not one to make bets, but a cash wager seems rather boring. If I win, I will require that you take a place in court in Tenebrae, should we ever achieve our independence from the Empire. You shall be the official court photographer and Master of Something-or-Other to make it sound official. If I lose, I will steal away from my hosts for a time and finally pay my dear friends in Insomnia an overdue visit. Does that suffice?_

 _I'm so pleased to hear you wish to continue volunteering at the children's hospital. I spend a great deal of time healing and visiting the ill wherever I am, and it is quite rewarding and humbling to see all the everyday heroism that goes unnoticed. Though it is my duty as Oracle, it feels good to give back and to know something I've done has eased someone's pain, even if for only a short while._

 _And please do your best to dissuade our Crazy Cat Lady from encouraging rumors of his unfortunate, otherworldly birth. Seems he's quite amused by the story regarding his extra appendages. While I also find it amusing, perhaps he could take it down a notch? Word has spread that the future King of Lucis is, in fact, an alien, and unfortunately there are those foolish enough to believe in such things._

 _I hope you're doing well, and I will keep you in my prayers so that whatever burdens you carry will be lifted and you will find the joy still to be found in this troubled world we live in._

 _Yours,_

 _Luna_

* * *

It takes Prompto a few days to adjust to his new, if temporary home. His injuries heal, and slowly he begins to trust that his father won't come storming in to take him back. As the weeks and months pass, his good humor returns, his test scores improve thanks to Ignis' help, and he spends every afternoon training with the Crownsguard recruits. At the end of each day, he collapses into bed, exhausted but with the sense that he's finally on his way to changing his fate.

The only thing that still weighs heavy on his mind is what he could be, and where he's from. Ignis digs into the subject, but there's little information to be found beyond what they already know. It's precious little comfort in the face of what he stands to lose.

He looks forward to Luna's letters. A playful sense of humor begins to reveal itself, and Prompto grows more and more comfortable revealing truths he can barely share with Noctis. He doesn't tell her a lot, but more than he dares say out loud. She is always kind in her response, empathetic in ways that his friends are not.

A couple of weeks pass and Prompto finally returns to his old home to retrieve the rest of his belongings. He doesn't tell anyone he's going. It's a risk, but he's stronger now. He knows how to fight back. He knows he can.

His key still works and as expected, no one is home. It's the same as he left it. Bleak and unwelcoming. Empty, and it hasn't been cleaned since he left it. Take-out boxes litter the counters and the trash overflows. Roaches scatter at his approach and he cringes, disgusted by the thought that anyone could live this way.

His belongings have been packed up, the posters removed from the walls. He's surprised there's anything left.

He sorts through the boxes but discovers there isn't much he wants anymore. He packs some of his clothing and a few sentimental items, his favorite comics and his photo albums, but the rest doesn't matter. This room and these things are part of his old life.

It's life he's ready to leave behind. He will be an outsider no matter where he goes, and he's not sure he belongs at Iggy's, but he knows he doesn't belong here.

He's never belonged here. They will never welcome him home or celebrate his successes. They will never see him the way he needs them to see him.

He exits the bedroom just as the front door opens. His mother steps inside and freezes at the sight of him. It's hard to tell if she's afraid or angry or surprised or some combination of the three. Prompto watches her from the doorway, his heart aching for her to be the kind of mother he always wanted.

"What are you doing here?" she asks.

"Getting my stuff," he says. "I'm on my way out."

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

Prompto wants to ask a thousand questions, but she's just as much a stranger now as she was before. She's unmoved and her indifference hurts.

"Why?" he asks because it's the only question he can manage.

"I tried, Prompto. I tried, and it just didn't work."

"What didn't work?"

"It's hard to love a thing you hate so much," she says softly. She gestures at his covered wrist. "I tried, and I couldn't."

This is so much worse than his father's fists. It hurts a thousand times more. He wants to ask why he wasn't worth loving. Why they took him in. Why it was so hard to care.

"It's not your fault," she says. "You were a good boy. I'm just not a good enough person to get past it."

She shakes her head and rushes past him to the kitchen. She turns her back at the sink and leans both palms against the counter.

"I'm sorry I failed you, Prompto. I should have tried harder," she says.

The truth sucks. His throat tightens and his eyes burn. He wants to forgive her, to ask her to try again, but if after all these years she doesn't have it in her, there's nothing he can do to change it.

"You should probably go. He'll be home soon."

"So, that's it then?" he asks. "You wash your hands of me?"

"It's probably for the best," she says. "I can't protect you."

He needed her protection, but more than that, he needed her love, and he never got it. All because of the mark the Empire has left on him.

Prompto leaves without a proper goodbye. He takes the bus back to Ignis' apartment, numb and tired and his heart in bloody shreds.

Ignis greets him from his place at the table, an endless stack of books and paperwork before him, and Prompto nods back. He stashes his bags in his room and returns to the kitchen, where a kettle of hot water is warming for tea. Prompto stares at the bright red coils, mesmerized by the opportunity it offers.

A new brand might cover the old one, or maybe obscure it enough that it won't be recognizable for what it is. He could burn it away until it disappears, a scar preferable to what is already there.

It's worth it to try. A few minutes of agony might buy him a future where he doesn't need to hide. A future where someone loves him for who he is instead of being denied because of where he might be from.

He strips off the athletic band and drops it on the counter. It's now or never, while Ignis' back is turned.

Prompto removes the kettle from the burner, takes a deep breath, and presses the branded skin against the glowing ring on the stove.


	3. Blindspot

3.

* * *

Ignis looks up from his studies as a thin but pained cry rises from the kitchen. A moment later, he smells burnt hair. The sound comes again, louder this time, and Ignis rushes into the kitchen to investigate.

Prompto stands at the stove, his arm pressed to the fire-red burner. His face is contorted and the tendons of his neck stand out. His lips are pressed together to hold back a scream. Sweat beads on his forehead.

Ignis forcibly removes his arm from the stove, turns off the heat, and reaches for one of the potions he keeps in the drawer specifically for kitchen mishaps. He breaks it against Prompto's burn and is rewarded with a whimper of relief.

As the burn heals, Prompto squeezes his eyes shut and his face collapses. Twin rivers spill down his cheeks and he covers his face with his other hand to hide his shame.

Ignis is not big on hugging, but he draws Prompto into his best approximation of a motherly embrace. Whatever brought this on requires it.

Prompto lets out a loud, barking sob as Ignis folds him against his chest and the sound of it tears Ignis apart. For all his complaining, the things Prompto gives voice to are not the things that really bother him. Those things, he holds back. That's never been more clear than it is now. There is a world of pain in Prompto's hacking wails, more than Ignis could ever imagine.

"It's all right," Ignis promises as he clasps the back of Prompto's neck and holds him tighter. "I understand."

Ignis wonders if that so-called family of Prompto's ever bothered with this sort of nurturing. Prompto clings to him, desperate and pitiful, like he's never been held before in his life.

"I'm sorry," Prompto moans through hiccuping sobs. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Ignis says. "Let it out."

Prompto's tears soak through Ignis' dress shirt and his body burns like he's come down with a fever. Ignis can't remember the last time he cried himself, but he sheds a tear or two on Prompto's behalf.

Perhaps if the others were around, Ignis would handle this differently. Perhaps Prompto would, too. They are alone, and there's no need for pretenses or restraint.

Prompto eventually pulls away and wipes angrily at his wet cheeks. His eyes and nose are red and his mouth shakes with the effort to stop crying. He slips to the floor and sits with his back to the oven with his head between his knees, and takes long, slow breaths to calm himself.

Ignis joins him and lays a hand against the back of Prompto's head. He ruffles Prompto's hair and pats his neck, just the way he used to do for Noctis when he was a boy. Noctis' outbursts were rare, but they happened.

They all like to joke that Ignis is a mother hen, but he feels a protective, paternal sort of fondness for these boys in his care, Gladio included, though he's barely a man himself.

Though he knows his job is necessary, sometimes he feels like a glorified nanny. But who else will guide the boys, if not Ignis? He would trust no one else to do the job as thoroughly or with as much nuance as himself. Yet for all his dedication, there is nothing he can do to ease this kind of pain except be there. His offering is precious little in comparison to the hurt that drove Prompto to this in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Prompto says again. "I didn't mean to lose it."

"Don't apologize," Ignis says. "I myself have been wondering if that might work."

Prompto holds out his still-healing wrist. The code is still there, plain as day beneath the fading burn, the numbers legible and the lines all perfectly straight.

"Guess not," Prompto says quietly.

"Pity. It would have been an effective solution to the problem."

"Should have known it wouldn't be that easy."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "Perhaps in time we'll find another way. It's too soon to give up hope."

Prompto sniffles and wipes his eyes.

"Hey Iggy? You don't have to keep helping me out," he says. "I know I'm in your way."

Ignis rubs Prompto's back like he's a small child. In some ways, perhaps he still is. His chin quivers and his eyes begin to leak again and he looks very much like a young boy in the midst of a scolding.

"I rather enjoy your company. It can get lonely by myself," Ignis says. "But, I must admit it's also nice to have someone to feed who doesn't turn his nose up at half of what's on the plate. It allows me to indulge in more exotic fare without fear of censorship. I, for one, appreciate your lack of fear when it comes to trying new flavors."

Prompto sniffles again, but almost smiles.

"Your food's awesome, Ig. I'm happy to be your taste-tester," Prompto says. "But I mean, I'm not picky like some people we know. I'll pretty much eat anything you put in front of me."

"Indeed," Ignis says. "May I tell you a secret?"

"Sure," Prompto says.

"I occasionally sneak vegetables into Noctis' meals," Ignis says. "And he eats them. Without complaint."

"Yeah? How do you do that? He doesn't notice?"

"Of course not," Ignis says. "I shred them finely and mix them into whatever dish I've prepared. For example, my marinara sauce contains both carrots and green squash. Sometimes spinach as well. I tell him it's basil, which is _not_ a vegetable, no matter how green it appears."

"No kidding," Prompto says. He smiles, for real this time. "Dude, he'd be so mad if he knew."

"Which is why we're not going to tell him," Ignis says. "Sometimes ignorance truly is bliss."

"Must be nice though, to pick and choose what you eat," Prompto says. "If I did that I'd weigh a ton."

"Moderation is key," Ignis says. "But, you're allowed to indulge every now and then."

Prompto goes quiet and folds his arms over his knees. He rests his chin on his forearm and stares at the cabinets across from them.

"Next time you feel the need to maim yourself," Ignis says, "speak with me first. I know it's tempting to make rash decisions when you're upset, but we'll find a solution together, and that requires a cool head and some consideration beforehand."

"Yeah," Prompto says. "Will do."

"On a different note, some mail came for you today."

"I'm getting mail here?"

"So it seems," Ignis says.

He pushes to his feet, gathers the mail from the table and hands the envelope to Prompto. Prompto stares at it for a second, then tears it open. Inside is a debit card and a folded sheet of paper.

"What is this?" he asks and examines the card.

"I assume it's your pay."

"For what?"

Ignis smiles. Of course Prompto would join the Crownsguard without the expectation of compensation. Even recruits received a stipend for their training time. The fact that Prompto is ignorant of this says a lot about Prompto's reasons for doing it.

"You're a servant of the Crown now," Ignis says. "That does come with some benefits."

Prompto looks over the included statement and his eyes widen.

"Are you kidding me?" he cries. "I've been saving my change for three years and it's not even close to this! Are you sure this isn't a mistake?"

"No mistake," Ignis says. "Perhaps you should treat yourself. One little splurge, and then you'll put the rest in savings for the future."

Prompto stares at him like he's speaking a different language.

"Go get cleaned up," Ignis says. "I have a sudden and uncontrollable craving for ice cream. And you have some money to spend."

"Oh! Yeah, sure. I'll treat you to some ice cream if you want, seeing as I just got paid," Prompto says, a bit of his former energy creeping back into his voice. "It's the least I can do after, you know, everything."

Ignis laughs and helps Prompto up off the floor.

"You misread my meaning," Ignis says. "The ice cream is _my_ treat. Then, you will purchase something expensive and completely unnecessary because you _can_."

"Expensive and completely unnecessary?" Prompto asks with a cautious smile. "Like what?"

"Isn't there anything you've wanted and couldn't afford?"

"Well..." Prompto begins. "There was something, but it's probably gone now."

"Then we best go find out."

* * *

Prompto strolls along the sidewalk in the shopping district, Ignis beside him. He hasn't completely recovered from his meltdown, and the athletic band chafes the still-healing burn, but the fresh air, ice cream, and activity lift his spirits.

It was rash and impulsive to do what he did. He knows that. He just wanted the barcode gone for good, and it seemed like a good idea at the time.

It didn't help anything. He's still branded, still a thing everyone will hate if they find out.

He's glad Iggy was there, but he's embarrassed by the way he reacted. It's been a long, long time since anyone hugged him, and he didn't know how starved he was for it he was until Ignis offered.

That was the worst part. That desperate feeling, the incredible need to be held and comforted, and how easily he fell apart when Ignis gave him both.

Prompto peers into window after window, but nothing really strikes his fancy. In this part of town, there are a ton of clothing shops and places to buy kitchen gadgets and jewelry, but Prompto doesn't see anything close to what he's looking for.

Ignis buys himself a new tie, some expensive hand lotion, and ink refills for his fancy fountain pen. Prompto checks price tags and winces at how much they want for basics, like socks and t-shirts.

"See anything you like?"

"Not really," Prompto says. "The thing I was thinking about isn't in this part of town."

"Then lead the way," Ignis says.

"Let's take the subway. It'll be faster."

Ignis makes a face, but he follows Prompto. A few paces away from the stairs to the station, a young woman is selling watercolor paintings on the sidewalk. Prompto stops to admire her work.

Each one is beautiful, most of them landscapes in bright colors, but it's the painting of a sylleblossom in vivid blues and greens that captures his interest.

"I want that one," he says and hands over his card.

The artist is pleased he likes her work and thanks him profusely for his patronage. She wraps it in paper and Prompto pictures Luna opening it, wherever it is she might be.

"A fine purchase. Both expensive and unnecessary," Ignis says as they walk away. "Though, I am surprised by your choice."

"It's not for me," Prompto says. "It's a gift."

"Do tell," Ignis says. "A young lady, perhaps?"

"Um, well, uh, she's, you know, an old friend," Prompto says as a blush creeps up on him. "Her birthday's coming up."

If Ignis' curiosity is piqued, he doesn't show it.

"Then it will make a fine gift," Ignis says. "You have good taste, and I'm sure she will appreciate it. But do be sure to purchase something for yourself as well."

They take the subway to Prompto's old neighborhood. He hadn't planned on coming back here. Not on the same day his mother admitted she felt nothing for him. Nor ever, but he also didn't plan on a sudden windfall. There's more money in his account than he's had in his entire life combined. Luna's gift aside, there's only one thing he really wants, and for the first time since he laid eyes on it, he has more than enough to afford it.

The store he seeks is in the opposite direction of his old apartment. It sells second-hand household items and clothing, but also a selection of electronics, jewelry and musical instruments that people have sold to make ends meet.

A block from the store, Prompto runs into a kid that lives in his old building.

"Prompto? Is that you?"

"Yep. It's me."

"I haven't seen you in forever!" Caine says. "After your dad got beat up, I thought something happened to you, too. You kinda disappeared on us."

This is news to Prompto. His father can be an intimidating man, and it's hard to picture him laid low.

"My dad got beat up?"

"Yeah, says some foreign dudes kicked the crap out of him on his way home from the bar," Caine says. "Figured you knew."

"I don't live there anymore," Prompto says. Saying it out loud stings, but it's also liberating. "I'm, uh, with the Crownsguard now."

"Really? That's awesome, dude!"

"Yeah, it kinda is," Prompto says. "Anyway, if you see my old man, you let him know that, okay? Tell him I'm one of Prince Noctis' personal guard."

"Bet he'll be proud to hear it," Caine says. "Gotta run. See you around, buddy!"

He watches the kid go. It's a strange duality, to have one foot on either side of the line. He tries to picture Caine, who is not so unlike himself in many ways, as a commoner that hung out with some of the most powerful people in the city. It's hard to imagine, and he wonders, not for the first time, how he even got here.

The Lokton is still in the window when they arrive at the store. He stares at it from the sidewalk and thinks of how many times he's stood in this same spot and daydreamed about it.

"Ah. I see," Ignis says. "Are you sure you don't want something more modern? I saw several new ones in the shopping district."

"Nope," Prompto says. "It's old, but the pictures it takes are way better than any of those fancy new ones."

"You're the expert," Ignis says. "Shall we go inside?"

* * *

 _Dear Prompto,_

 _I was surprised and delighted to receive your gift, and I am humbled that you thought of me. It's lovely and I will cherish it always. Sylleblossoms are, of course, my favorite. Thank you so much for remembering._

 _I am pleased to hear you are enjoying your training, though it sounds as though your days are quite full. Be sure to take time to rest and enjoy being young as well. Go outside and take your photographs. Stand in the sunshine. Laugh with your friends. The duties of adulthood leave precious little time for relaxation and there will be plenty of years ahead of you to work. For now, be what you are, take your time, find yourself, and you won't look back on these years with regret._

 _How fares our Crazy Cat Lady? His letters are often short and contain no mention of his well being. I often find myself scanning the lines and picking apart his words to determine his state of mind, but always come up without an answer. I understand his father is not in the best of heath and this endless war drags on, so perhaps he is preoccupied. Please do ensure he also takes time for himself, so long as it doesn't involve extensive and excessive napping._

 _Thank you for the beautiful painting, and I keep you in my prayers._

 _Yours,_

 _Luna_

* * *

 _Dear Luna,_

 _We're coming up on our university entrance exams, and Iggy's got the pressure on the Crazy Cat Lady right now. It's stressing him out a little. Heck, it's stressing me out too, and I'm not sure if I'm going to University or not. Cor and Gladio think I should go full time with the Crownsguard after graduation, and I kind of wanted to maybe possibly do something with my photography after I graduate. Maybe open a studio or sell prints to travel magazines. I'd have to do some traveling to make that happen, but I can't do that if I'm stuck in class. I mean, my grades are good enough to get in, thanks to Iggy, but I'm just not sure if higher education will give me much of an advantage if all I want to do is take pictures._

 _And I'm not sure what happened but Noct and his dad aren't seeing eye to eye right now. There's been some tension and Noct won't talk about it except to say he finally did as his dad asked and stepped up, and he's getting some grief for it. All I know is he gets this weird look whenever you mention it._

 _Stuff's going on in the city, too. You can feel this tension when you walk around. I don't usually notice stuff like that, but it's starting to bleed into everything. There's a lot of violence happening in the outer neighborhoods, a lot of crime, and people are blaming refugees for it. Iggy says it's scapegoating, but I'm not sure what's true because the news says something different. Makes me nervous, you know? I guess it's the war and all. Everyone's on edge. Iggy says it's gotten to the point where Insomnia is basically an island surrounded by hostile cannibals just waiting to eat us alive. Meanwhile, people who don't want to live under the Empire's thumb come to Insomnia for protection with barely more than the clothes on their backs._

 _You probably already know all this. I'm only now paying attention to news and politics because Iggy makes me watch broadcasts and learn about this stuff in exchange for getting to sample his latest culinary creation. It's a fair trade I think. I don't feel so dumb when people talk about what's going on, and I get to eat all these great things I've never tried before._

 _I'm gonna take pictures of Iggy's meals and send them to you. They're works of art. He has a gift, but I swear, either my pants are shrinking or there are a lot more calories in his food than he admits to. Which is not good for me, the reformed over-eater. But Gladio says some of the extra mass is muscle, so I guess I shouldn't worry too much. I just don't want to go back to that place. I worked really hard to get healthy, so I sort of get hung up on every pound I gain. That's probably not healthy either, but I felt really bad about myself for being chubby when I was a kid, and I don't want it to be an issue ever again._

 _Hope you're doing well. I saw you on the news a few days ago and it was so weird to think that after all this time, and after all these letters, I feel like I know you, but we've never met in person. Maybe someday we can fix that. Maybe, if I become a super famous photog, I can come visit. I think Noctis would really like to see you again, too, even if he never says it. You should see the look on his face when Umbra shows up with your notebook! Maybe I'll get a picture of it and send it to you. I'll have to be sneaky about it, and he'd kill me if he knew, but it's like he's a different person for a minute._

 _Look at me, rambling on. Maybe I'm trying to make up for the Crazy Cat Lady's shortcomings insofar as his letters. I'll stop now, but give Pryna a belly rub for me, okay?_

 _Your buddy,_

 _Prompto_

* * *

"You've come a long way, Prompto," Cor says as Prompto wipes his brow and holsters his training pistol. "I have confidence you'll be ready should the need arise."

Prompto's cheeks warm and he bows his head at the compliment. Cor does not throw out praise often, so when he gives it, he really means it.

"T-thanks," Prompto says. "I won't let you down, sir."

"That said," Cor says, "you need to work on your confidence. You're an excellent shot, you're fast, and you're at the top of the curve when it comes to completing the timed trials. There's no reason to second guess yourself."

Confidence has always been an issue. His troubled childhood, combined with the sense that he's an impostor in this world undermine him. He is eighteen, and he's grown stronger, and he's got the approval of the Marshal, and that should be enough, but he still doubts himself in a thousand ways.

"Thank you, sir. I'll work on it."

"And watch your six," Cor says. "Always be aware of what's behind you. Not checking your blind spots can get you killed."

Prompto nods. "Gotcha. I'll work on that, too, sir."

"Good," Cor says. "Report to Monica tomorrow afternoon. She'll oversee your self-defense and first-aid training twice a week from now on."

"I will," Prompto says. "And, you know, thanks."

"You said that already," Cor says with a hint of a smile. "Confidence, remember?"

"Yeah. Confidence."

Cor pauses and looks Prompto over.

"I trust you're doing well outside of training?"

"I'm doing great," Prompto says. He pats his stomach. "Though Iggy's doing his best to fatten me up. My grades are good. Graduating soon."

"Glad to hear it," Cor says. "I'll see you next week."

Prompto heads home, showers, and gathers his stuff for his usual weekend at Noctis' place. He spends most weekends there now, to give Ignis a break and to hang out with his best buddy. They don't do much but watch movies and play games, and Prompto visits the children's hospital on Saturday afternoons, whether or not Noctis goes too.

On the table is a package with his name on it. He tears the paper off and opens the box to find a graduation cap and gown inside.

"Woohoo!" he cries and holds it up to see if it will fit.

Included in the box are a set of announcements. He runs his fingers over the thick, cream-colored paper and reads his name on the inscription inside.

Luna's the only one he wants to send one to, but he's proud just the same.

* * *

"There's nothing I can do at present," King Regis says. "I understand where you're coming from, but we've been over this Noctis. We are at war, and our resources are stretched thin as it is. I cannot do anything until we are able to regain control of our territories. Until then, sacrifices must be made."

"So you're just going to let citizens of Lucis starve on the streets?" Noctis says. "They're _your_ people. You were supposed to protect them."

"So I was, and I have failed," Regis says. He limps across the parlor of his suite and takes a seat by the window. "You do not know what it's like to watch our territories fall one by one and not be able to do anything about it."

"Then take them back," Noctis says.

Regis sighs and shakes his head. "You are young and know nothing of war. You do not know the cost of upholding the wall. It takes it's toll. I'm tired... I can only do so much."

"What's the point of being King if you don't have the power to change things?" Noctis asks. "Or maybe, you only care about those from Insomnia and everyone else can fend for themselves."

"I have to take a meeting, Noctis," Regis says tiredly. "We'll discuss this later."

Noctis throws his hands up and storms from the room. They've had this same argument for some time now, and it always ends the same way. His father, the King, the most powerful man in the city, can do nothing. Noctis, his successor, can only show up to volunteer or hand out cash from the Citadel's coffers when he has it. It isn't enough.

He still thinks about that woman and her children in the alleyway. Had he not gone off to avenge Prompto, he would not have known Insomnia wore a veneer of wealth and power that hid the undeniable truth that the city was not what it seemed. Had he not seen her, he'd probably still be content to sit in his apartment and play games or sleep until Ignis forced him out of bed.

That part of town is known by the refugees as the Waiting Room. It's where the most in need people gather to wait for either death or salvation. Jobs are few, people live in one room apartments where every spare inch of floor is dedicated to bedrolls. There are no shelters or soup kitchens. There is only the long wait for something to change.

Noctis wants to help in any way he can, but there's no easy solution. In a city as prosperous as Insomnia, there shouldn't be a problem, but there is. Maybe, if his father was willing to pass a law that prevented employers from refusing work to outsiders, it would be a start. Maybe, if the only way to get work wasn't to join the Kingsglaive, they would prosper.

He drives to meet Gladio for training, and weaves in and out of traffic, his foot on the gas pedal, and his mind everywhere but on the road. Horns blare and a few people give him the finger, but Noctis doesn't care. Ignis isn't here to reprimand him.

The first few minutes of his session are intense as Noctis takes his frustration out on Gladio. He warps around the room faster than Gladio can track and lands hit after hit until Gladio holds up his hands to signal the end of the fight.

"What's got you so worked up?" Gladio asks.

"It's nothing," Noctis says. "Are we done here, or do you wanna go for round two?"

For over an hour, Noctis pummels Gladio with the best he's got until he's spent and panting on the floor. Gladio nudges him with his boot.

"You know, if you trained like that everyday, you'd be years ahead of where you are now," Gladio says. "I like the hustle. Keep it up."

"Yeah, great," Noctis says and sits up. "We done here?"

"You need to get something off your chest?"

"No," Noctis says. "I just want to go home."

* * *

Noctis' cupboards are bare, save a lone Cup Noodles and a stale bag of chips.

"Dude, there's nothing to eat."

Prompto takes the chip bag from the cupboard to dispose of it. Ants spill out of it and Prompto yelps as they crawl up his arm.

"Dude! You've got ants!" Prompto complains and flails around the kitchen to get them off. "Ugh! I hate bugs!"

Noctis looks up from his place on the couch and pauses his game.

"There's some spray under the sink."

Prompto stares at him for a second, incredulous. Then, he sighs and retrieves the can of spray and hoses the cabinet and countertop down.

"So, did Ignis forget to go grocery shopping this week, or what?"

"I forgot to give him my grocery list," Noctis says. "He's teaching me a lesson about being responsible for myself. Hence, ants and no food."

That sounds like Iggy. Prompto opens the refrigerator to find a single egg in a carton, a take-out box so old he can't identify what it was, and a bottle of ketchup. He closes the door and scratches his head and looks to his friend for an explanation.

"How long ago was that?"

"Monday."

"Did you, I don't know, maybe make a list when you figured out he wasn't going to do his part until you did your part?"

Noctis shrugs and goes back to his game.

"Okay, then," Prompto says. "Take-out it is. What are you in the mood for?"

"Don't care."

"You say that, then I order something spicy -"

"Get whatever you want," Noctis says. "Not really hungry."

"You mad about something?" Prompto asks. "You want me to go?"

"No, I don't want you to go," Noctis says. "Just... it's this thing with my dad. It's not you."

"You... wanna talk about it?"

"Same thing, different day," Noctis says. "Go on and get something to eat. Maybe grab me some chips and snack cakes while you're out."

"Sure you don't want something else?"

"Nope."

Prompto calls a take-out restaurant a few blocks away and orders their spiciest stir-fry with plain rice and an order of pot-stickers for Noctis, just in case he changes his mind. If he knows Noct, he will.

"Back in a jiffy," he says as he heads out.

The evening is warm and the street is lit up with neon signs that advertise banks and movies and cleaning products. Cars move at a crawl and the sidewalk is crowded.

Prompto loves the bustle of downtown. All these people, going about their lives, all that activity and urgency. Sometimes, he wonders where they're all going.

A few blocks ahead, across from the convenience store, a small parade of people march in a circle outside the subway. They carry signs that demand equal rights for refugees, equal pay and equal opportunities for jobs.

He feels for them. He's heard things around town and seen things on the news about how difficult it is to survive here as a refugee. The media portrays them as lazy layabouts who would prefer lives of squalor and crime to an honest job. Prompto doubts that's true.

They shout at him from across the street and wave their signs. City Police hang back on the fringes, batons at the ready in case they get out of line, but to Prompto, it looks like these people just want to be heard.

He ducks into the convenience store for Noct's snacks. He browses the isles until he locates Noctis' favorite chips, snack cakes and grabs a couple of colas from the cooler.

As he approaches the counter to pay, two men burst in, guns drawn.

"Open the cash drawer," one of them demands. "Now!"

The terrified clerk gapes at them, but doesn't open the drawer. Prompto freezes, unsure of what to do.

There are two men in front of him with guns. There are police right outside. He's trained for the last two years to fight and defend. He's a member of the Crownsguard. He needs to act.

Cor believes in him. He just needs confidence.

The cashier draws his own weapon from under the counter, and the robber's finger twitches on the trigger.

Prompto stops thinking and lunges forward and tackles the man to the ground before he can shoot the cashier. A blast of gunfire ricochets through the store as something sharp and hot stabs at Prompto's side on the way down.

He's practiced this in training, but it never got his heart pumping like this and he's never been this scared. He uses elbows and knees to injure and subdue, and they knock over a rack of peanuts as they each fight for control of the gun.

The other man and the cashier are in a silent stand-off with one another, neither willing to let the other out of their sights, and neither willing to pull the trigger.

Prompto gains control of the gun, wrenches it away from the first man and turns it on the second.

"Drop it," he says and pushes to his feet. "Put it on the floor and kick it to me."

The perp is unsure of who to aim at. The armed cashier, or Prompto.

"You've got two on you, dude," Prompto says. "You're not gonna win. Put the gun down, okay?"

The cashier, in a panic, turns his aim to something behind Prompto and pulls the trigger. The blast is deafening and Prompto is knocked backwards as the round hits him in the chest. He meets the cashier's shocked, wide eyes as he falls. The bullet was not meant for him.

Prompto forgot to watch his six.

Big mistake.

It knocks the breath from his lungs and he can't seem to draw another. His vision goes fuzzy and unfocused, and colors melt together like watercolors in the rain. He struggles to get up but his body won't cooperate. Rivers of something warm and wet spill down the sides of his ribcage and he smells gunpowder and warm copper and floor cleaner.

Beside the cooler, a man in too many layers for the warm weather tips his fedora and smiles. Tears of black spill down the man's cheeks and his eyes are bottomless holes darker than the ink in Ignis' fountain pens. He kneels beside Prompto and passes a hand over Prompto's face, then removes the band from his wrist. Prompto tries to protest, but he's too weak to fight back.

He presses his palm to the wound in Prompto's chest and something nasty slithers and ripples beneath his skin. There's a sickly, wet rattle in his lungs and his thunderous but unsteady heartbeat drowns out the rising sirens in the distance. He's never been this cold in his life.

The man caresses his face again, smiles, and stands.

"Let the games begin," the man says. "Sleep well, dear sweet Prompto."

* * *

Ignis takes his car keys from the peg by the door, assures he has his briefcase, and steps out into the hall. He's on his way to dinner with his Uncle at a swanky new restaurant downtown he's heard good things about. Eager to try new cuisine, Ignis does not notice the pair of Kingsglaive at the end of the hall until they're already near.

Their dress and posture convey they are here on official business. He stays where he is, expecting them to stop at one of the other doors in the hall, but as they draw closer, it becomes clear their business is with him.

"Might I help you gentlemen?"

"Are you Ignis Stupeo Scientia?"

"That I am."

"Put your hands up. You're under arrest for aiding and abetting an Imperial fugitive and conspiracy to commit treason."


End file.
